


Calculated Errors

by Pacifia



Series: Adventures_in_Narnia_2021 [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: Edmund is in Zalindreh for a diplomatic negotiation. He makes a mistake. Written for 'Adventures in Narnia' prompt-fest. Complete for now.
Series: Adventures_in_Narnia_2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143263
Kudos: 9





	Calculated Errors

The morning was crisp, the salty see breeze cracking the leaves and flowers that had recently bloomed in spring. White clouds were spread in the sky, showering distant but large patches of comforting shadow on the burning ground.

As Edmund wiped his brow, settling more comfortably atop his mount, he thought wryly (and not for the first time) that he _despised_ Calormen in summer. Of course he hated it regardless the season, but during summer, it was unbearable. The sweat made his skin itch, the stuffy air was pungent, and the enormous amount of people wandering the lava-hot ground bare-feet kept giving him the curious glances. He could do naught to evade any of it. So, he kept playing the possible scenarios in his mind again and again, eliminating anything that was improbable, and frowning at his imaginary self when he said something particularly _undiplomatic._

He'd brought no Narnian guards—only five Archen ones he'd borrowed from Anvard—as it was one of conditions mentioned by the Tarkan Oshoshton. Edmund had been forced to oblige, since this meeting was vital.

The problem he was journeying to solve had been posed by the Tarkan. Word had reached he was going to offer an appreciable amount of money from his riches to the Tisroc, enough to aid him in faster production of the warship that would complete and lead the Calormen navy through the Eastern Sea. It wasn't as if Edmund anticipated any danger—there were no lingering tensions between Calormen and Narnia. However, one could never predict the future, and if Calormen wasn't an enemy, it wasn't an ally either.

So, when the news had reached Cair, Edmund had taken off swiftly, excused his unannounced presence in Calormen with a lie (miscommunication in the Narnian embassy in Zalindreh), and met with a messenger of Oshoshton at the temple of Tash on the hill. There, the Tarkan's letter had been delivered, beginning with the same overextended greetings, and offering a _diplomatic_ trade.

What the Tarkan wished for, he hadn't mentioned, and Edmund's guesses had been limited. What could a man of his wealth want? Respect? Love? Women? Edmund could provide him none of these things, and he must know. So, the question still stood, what did he _want_?

And any question, any gap, small or wide, presented a possibility (however tiny in Edmund's mind) that things could go awry very quickly.

So, he had been wary. And his guards had noticed, so they were on edge now too. That was not good.

Edmund, with an inward sigh, turned back to the elongating street in front of him, the dust rising in spirals as barefoot children ran across, laughing brightly. He smiled, and then promptly oomphed as the horse halted its trot.

"We are here, sire," announced Avron of the Guard.

And Edmund twisted his neck to see the green landscape stretched out on his left. The house was situated in the middle, marble and pure white, the architecture remarkable, its beauty dazzling. Edmund had to wrench his eyes off it. He dismounted his mare and approached the front gate. The iron bars stood tall in front of him and he rang the hanging bell to catch the attention of the guard dozing in a chair near it.

The man nearly toppled off. He blinked blearily at Edmund, and then sighed, disappointed that the expected arrival had finally reached. He strode to the gate and was face to face with Edmund. Skeptically, he glanced back at the men standing behind Edmund, and said succinctly, "No weapons."

Edmund looked back at his guards, all exchanging glances in mild consternation. He shrugged. "Well, alright," he said, turning back, "where do we rest our swords?"

The man, in response, unlocked the gate and allowed them entrance, beckoning them to come in. "Here," he then said, gesturing towards the small cabin besides the gate.

Edmund nodded and one guard collected all the swords and put them inside the cabin. He came back quickly and then Edmund was following the Calormene to the house, walking on one of the several gravel paths leading to the center of the large garden, passing by silently bubbling fountains. Edmund noticed some servants (likely slaves, he judged by their ragged clothing) sprinkling water in effort to keep the heat from boiling the earth as he got closer to the house. More servants (these were more richly dressed) rushed to open the doors as Edmund approached, and then bowed low. Others offered him water, which he refused, still vigilant.

Then the double doors at the end of the airy corridor opened and Edmund went in, glancing back for his guards, but they'd been forced to stop outside.

"It shall be a formal meeting; you must go alone," the man from the front gate said.

Edmund's guards stiffened. But he nodded at them and they conceded to the Calormene's demands.

The servants closed the door.

There was a cough.

And Edmund turned slowly, smiling at the Tarkhan—

He blinked. It was a girl. She was young, perhaps as old as Susan, and was wearing silken clothes, her gown dragging beside her on the ground as she ambled idly to one of the wooden sofas, puffed out the cushions, and sat. She raised her head and gave a surprised, "Oh!" Edmund's brows went up. "You are early, here before the time you were assigned. I have seen many kings with a lack of patience" —contemplation spread over her face— "most don't have the brightest fate."

Edmund walked over to the sofa opposite to hers, went around it, and sat, smiling lopsidedly. "I'll keep your advice in mind then, kind lady. However, I will say, I was expecting the Tarkan, not his daughter."

"No? Well, you'd been misled then. My father passed a year ago, and I, as his lone heir, inherited his estate and position in Zalindreh. You must have known, King Edmund, as it is rumored that your hearing has a wide range; it is quite impressive, but knowledge never does come without a curse, as the poets have wisely said."

"I can say your poets are scarcely wise here," Edmund said, irked, and bemused that the Tarkheena should know of Edmund's secret endeavors. "May I know your name, most gracious lady?"

"You may," she said, grinning, "I am known by my father's name, Oshoshton, by many. But as every man and woman (and beast in your Narnia), I have a birth name. And since I perceive you are not fully comfortable with my father's old name, I shall tell you mine. It is Irdahila*. But you may call me Irda."

"That is a precious name," Edmund commented. "I am King Edmund, as I suppose you know already. As you know the objective of our meeting."

Irdahila smiled toothily. "I offered you a trade, and I surmise you are willing to negotiate."

"To bargain," Edmund said.

"Then shall we begin discussing my terms?" Edmund nodded tautly. "I will keep my treasury to myself, and pay the Tisroc only the annual and paltry tax, _given_ that your brother marries me."

"No," Edmund replied immediately. And he knew nothing more needed to be said.

Irda frowned. "Does he not prefer women?"

"That is something you're not concerned with. And it is besides the point. My answer is no. If there are no further bargains to be offered, I shall excuse myself from your presence." He began to stand. But Irdahila, barely concealing her frown, waved her hand, and asked him politely to sit down. "So, am I to infer there is more to this meeting?"

"More, yes," she said. "But as the poets have said, try, I must, even if in futility. Will you accept my hand in the stead of your brother?"

Edmund grimaced. "I'm afraid too young to bear the responsibility of marriage, lady."

"And yet you rule a magical country," she grumbled softly, but Edmund heard nonetheless. "However, there is something else you can offer me."

"That is?"

"A refuge." Edmund raised his brows in silent query. Irdahila stood, her gown sweeping the floor as she walked to the window that looked over her gardens. "It is a grievous case, King of Narnia. Since my father's death, the Tarkans have been preying like vultures, hungry for power that could have so easily been theirs, the respect snatched from their grasp by a _woman_! An incredulous happening, O King, you must know! A woman's administration is not approved in Calormen, even in the merchant cities that have advanced faster than others, where women handle men's accounts and their precious trade." She wheeled around to face Edmund. "Have you never wondered why the Tisroc (may he live forever) does not have a queen? These men cannot be persuaded, King Edmund, as they're stubborn as a pole. And they will not rest until they finally have the power they so earnestly wish for. I need safety. I need a refuge in the north."

Edmund settled back. "And?"

"Nothing more, I assure you."

Edmund raised a dubious brow. She relented, "Only some way to smuggle my gold across the borders."

"No," Edmund said, rising. He dusted his shoulders and turned to walk away. "I am sorry to have wasted your time, but—"

"The Tisroc (may he live forever) will hear of this," she said.

Edmund smiled to himself and turned. "A calculated move," he said. "But perhaps you haven't thought it through." Irda pressed her lips together. "If the Tisroc (may his tea forever be cold) is made an enemy of Narnia, yes, it would raise problems, severe ones." He took a step forward. "But if he hears of your transgression? Fraternizing with a Narnian King to conspire against him?"

"But you're unwilling to let your country face possible war," Irdahila said, grinning triumphantly. "Or let a willing ally fall prey to the Tisroc's punishment (may he live forever). It seems you've made an error." And she looked out of the window.

Edmund still smiled. "A calculated one," he said, "the Tisroc would be more easily convinced that I threatened you, instead of this peaceful negotiation."

"But you are without weapons," Irda said, furrowing her brows.

"Am I?" He flourished his dagger, waved it, and then it vanished back into his sleeve.

She smiled, locking her hands behind her back, glancing out of the window again. "I fail to see how that will help you, being imprisoned by the Tisroc (may he live forever)."

"Oh, no, he won't imprison me, certainly," he said. "I'm very diplomatic."

"No," she said, "you are only sly."

He shrugged. "He won't imprison me, and he will not punish you."

"Well, then let it be as it was. I will give the Tisroc my gold and his navy will dominate the sea in a year."

Edmund couldn't help the grin. "And let your jealous enemies cut your throat? Giving up your treasures would mean they will remain without the gold they wish for. Would that be enough fuel to ignite a revengeful attack against you?"

She raised her hands. "I will admit, you are clever," she praised and took a step forward. "Every move played before, every possibility thought of, every error with purpose," and she straightened his tunic. "I suppose you have an excuse for your spies wandering the streets of Calormen as well."

Edmund cocked his head to one side. "Perhaps."

Irda smiled and pecked his cheek. "Then you win. I will excuse myself from His Majesty's exalted presence now, for I lack time, my maidens wait for me. My guards will show you out."

And her hand swept gently over his arm as he stepped back. She turned, throwing back her gown, and was gracefully walking to the back door. She opened it, stepped out, smiled back at him once, and then disappeared as it closed.

Edmund released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

And angry footsteps echoed. Flustered voices were begging for forgiveness, some urging that everyone be calmed. The chinks of swords being unsheathed. The swift creak of the door flying open. A saggy and old face staring and blinking at him. Frenzied faces behind him consternated.

Edmund blinked, signaling his guards to stand back with a glance of his eyes.

The old man who was wrapped in gold said, "You are early."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're early, King of Narnia. And you bear weapons."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Edmund. "The Tarkheena—"

The old man frowned. "I do not have a wife."

"But—" Edmund looked down. His hands were pale and naked. His signet ring was gone. He raised his head. "You are Tarkhan Oshoshton, aren't you?"

"A wonder you should have to ask," was his reply.

Edmund laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> *Pronounced Er-dah-ila


End file.
